Rose: The Memories
The cobbled streets near Tango Sushi had brought a flood of new memories rushing into my head.
When I was younger, I had grown up in a middle-class family. My father used to work as a carpenter going house to house searching for new projects from willing rich people. He always wore a smile on his face even if there was no work to be had. I would run up to him as a young girl, and he’d take me up and give piggyback rides from one end of the small house to the other.
It was a ragged house with broken pipes, aging floors, and stained walls, but he kept working on it making sure his skills were put to use.
My mom was just as lovely putting in hours of work sewing clothes for women who wanted the latest dress they’d seen in a magazine or something fancy they’d watched on
